Tears and Rain
by Gater101
Summary: OneShot. He’s good at that; hiding behind things. ‘Lifeline’ episode tag.


Title: Tears and Rain  
Summary: He's good at that; hiding behind things. 'Lifeline' episode tag.  
Characters: John & Teyla  
Pairing: John/Teyla  
Rating: K

To say the mission was a disaster was what John Sheppard would call an understatement. They'd stepped foot on the planet and promptly been ambushed by not one but two opponents. Firstly, the natives (ever fond of their slingshots) pelted them with a melange of fruit and vegetables, one of which happened to be a particularly orange-like fruit that had burst on impact with Rodney's face; said face of the scientist had promptly swollen up but not before said scientist had promptly fainted from fright and the impact. The second had been the weather. The storm had opened up above their heads in the skies that had been crystal clear when they'd stepped through. They'd been soaked and cold stuck on the planet after an annoyingly accurate bolt of lightning struck the DHD and rendered it useless.

Plus, they weren't due to check in for a few hours. So they'd hunkered down under some trees and bushes, waiting for Rodney to waken and hopefully not realise his face was swollen so he would stop panicking enough for him to get the DHD working. The silence was heavy and laden with sadness that John Sheppard did not want to feel. Teyla had shrunk off to the back of the den of trees they were using as a make shift shelter, sitting with her back to them, face stony as she stared out across the vast rolling fields. Ronon fiddled with his gun, using the bottom of his soaked coat to clean the already pristine weapon. And John – well, he'd just sat there trying not to think about what he knew the others were thinking about.

The rain had pummelled down for hours and hours and hours and they'd hunkered there for the same length of time after Rodney's prognosis on the dud DHD. His hysterics had begun before he'd even really woken from his slumber much to the amusement of Ronon and John. Teyla had stayed where she'd been since they'd sought refuge and when John had gone to her side, he'd found her asleep. When the 'Gate had sprung to life an hour after the team's scheduled check-in, they'd relayed their situation and a Jumper had been sent to retrieve them.

John was glad that the natives didn't have watermelons to try and bombard the Jumper with, or else the mission would have been even more of a disaster. As it turned out, they had more of their handy orange like fruits, which they'd promptly attacked Rodney with obviously having taken note of the poor scientist's reaction beforehand. He'd thankfully remained physically unscarred, though he'd made it abundantly clear that the mental scarring would be with him forever.

It had taken them hours to dry off and heat up in the back of the Jumper and then the infirmary and then the briefing. Through all of which John could sense his team's uncertainty, their apprehension, their grief. John couldn't blame them.

As luck would have it, John found himself on the south pier, sheltered from most of the rain by the grounding station that had been fixed during the Replicators' stay in Atlantis but still soaked none the less. Soaked and cold, all of his hard work at drying off and heating up gone in an instant. He didn't mind, really. The rain soothed the burning muscles in his body, the coldness kept him from falling asleep to a world of dreams he had no care to return to. It washed away the pain, the dirt, the grief but John knew that the relief was as superficial as it was temporary.

He's not surprised when the door swishes open, nor is he surprised when she stops beside him, silent and stoic, sentry like in her stature. He knows she feels his pain because she was her friend too. He watches as she closes her eyes, watches as the rain soaks her recently dried hair, permeates her clothes and sticks them to her body. She's not protected by the grounding station like he is and as he watches her, he wishes he wasn't protected either.

He's good at that; hiding behind things. He's good at knowing when to run and when to stay and fight. And although his mind is urging his feet away from her to the relative comfort of his own quarters, his heart over rides and he stays. He knows he needs to. He knows she needs him to. He doesn't wonder how she's found him – doesn't think for a moment that maybe she hadn't intended to find him. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she'd come here for the solitude that the south pier and the rain offered. He knows she's come here before, just like he has.

He steps out from behind the grounding station and the rain and wind hit him, forcing the breath from his body and he too closes his eyes, the breath he inhales speckled with water that drips its way down the back of his throat. It's purifying and melodic being out here with her.

She sighs and he opens his eyes to look at her but she's playing with the fingers of her hand, flicking a nail and biting her lips.

"It is strange..." She begins and falters, her face tilting towards the sky, blinking back the tears that coat her eyes. He nods.

"I know." His voice is quiet and cracked, a small smattering of grief tainting his tone.

"I just..." She trails off again and he too fights off the tears that threaten.

"I know."

Their disaster of a mission had been the first they'd gone on since Elizabeth had sacrificed herself to the Replicators. It was the first mission they'd gone on where they'd been debriefed by someone who wasn't Weir and although John admired Colonel Carter for what she was doing, he couldn't help but wish that it was Elizabeth sitting at the head of their briefing table, or that it was Elizabeth's voice they'd heard when the Gate had burst to life.

And so soon after Carson...

He hears her struggle with the sob at the back of her throat and he is torn between wanting his solitude and reaching out to her. The rain thuds down onto the metal pier, the waves swell against the high edges of the city and John wonders if the city knows that another one of its children has been lost. Elizabeth's – he chokes on the word 'death' and turns away from her enquiring gaze.

"It proves to us that no one is safe. No one is above harm."

He nods but no words came from his mouth. He's not sure what to say. He knows full well that each and every member of the expedition could be lost at any time – hell, they'd already lost some pretty prominent figures; Sumner, Aiden and most recently Carson. The pain from the last is still too fresh for him to process the pain from the most recent.

"You did well with looking after the city," he says quietly, trying to change the subject. She smiles to him, he can see it from the corner of his eye and he too lets slip a small smile in return. "I never did get to thank you, or say... you know, well done."

"You need not thank me." She glances away and closes her eyes again and he could tell that she had tuned into the world around her. She did that quite often, just let the world float around her. It amazed him. He looked away and smiled to himself, ducking his head as the glimmer of normality struck him. It was the first optimistic sensation that had come over him in almost a week, if not longer. "It has been a turbulent time for us." He nods, not trusting his voice to speak the words that are floating about in his head. "One of upheaval and change..." He turns to her as she trails off and he sees the darkness around her eyes, finally lets himself see that someone else is grieving with him. "I only wonder when it will be our time for some peace." She ducks her head as her voice trails off and he closes his eyes in attempts to ward off his own onslaught of emotions.

"Now is the winter of our discontent..." he mutters the line that has been floating through his head for a few days and he opens his eyes to see her staring back to him, cold and wet and he swallows the lump in his throat.

She regards him for a moment and he bows under her scrutiny. She glances away quickly before looking back at him, her eyes trained on his neck, nodding slightly.

"Strong words, though not your own." He shakes his head and smiles sheepishly. "Shakespeare." He nods again, surprised but she does not explain. He doesn't ask her to. "I... we have lost many since our time in Atlantis... Charin was like my grandmother and I have been deeply saddened by her death. Since then..." She shakes her head and dislodges a few tears. She sniffs and straightens her back but still avoids his eyes. In a way, he's glad. "Her death sparked a chain reaction it seems and we have lost many people important to us..."

"It feels like I'm waiting for the next person close to me to be gone," he finishes when she drowns in her sobs.

She nods in a rush and her body folds into his, her arms circling his body. He's startled for a moment by the contact but instinctively wraps her closer to him, taking in the scent of her that he's come to know.

"I am glad..." She tries but the words melt into his chest like the tears spilling from her eyes. He wants to take her pain from her because he doesn't want her to feel anything like he does. "I am glad you made it back."

Leaving her behind had been the hardest thing; harder even that leaving Elizabeth but only marginally. Leaving Elizabeth had been painful to him but he can – he _will _– handle that when the time comes... but leaving Teyla behind had opened her up to a world of hurt she had not asked for. He knows her and he knows how deeply she cares for every one of the people on Atlantis, but especially him and Rodney and Ronon and Elizabeth. It had been likely that they would not come back and if he had... He doesn't want to think about and pushes the thoughts from his head, concentrating instead on the feel of her in his arms; alive and safe and well.

For now.

"Me too," he mutters into her hair as he ducks his into the wet mass and breathes onto her neck, breathes her in. The feel of her there and wrapped around him brings tears to his eyes that he lets fall.

She pulls back slightly when he tries to stifle his sob and he tries to turn from her but she holds his head between her two hands and urges him to look at her. She's gentle, yet commanding and he can't resist. She tugs his head down and he rests his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he does so. It's a gesture so familiar, so comforting and the wave of tranquillity that surges through him staggers him.

He doesn't know how it happens, or why he does it but he brushes his lips against her, resting for a moment there before dropping his forehead back to hers. He opens his eyes and stares into hers, a small smile tickling his lips and, for the first time in a long time, he's content.

When she returns the gesture, the taste of her lips sears across his mind and he knows he won't forget the bittersweet taste of hope and despair that lingers on his lips long after she is gone and the rain has stopped.

He watches the clouds break, hours later and when he licks his lips it reminds him of her and them and everything they've shared, everything they've lost. It reminds him of tears.

Tears – and rain.


End file.
